A Hue of Silver - A Tale of 18th Century Duelling and Discovery
by BorrisBeedle
Summary: Through a bizarre twist of fate, Elwin Taylor becomes a member of one of the most prestigious duelling clubs in the world. The year is 1710, and the wizarding world is a very different place. As Elwin struggles through his rigorous training, he finds himself surrounded by peers from all over the world, and discovers that magic is far more varied than he could ever have imagined.


**A Not So Peaceful Breakfast**

The snow sparkled in the radiant early-morning light. It had fallen softly in the night, leaving a thin layer of powder on the otherwise hard, compact, lower layers that had accumulated that winter. The trees, their branches full of dark-green needles but a few months ago, were heavily laden; their prickly demeanours now hidden under several inches of fresh snow. As the sun rose over the mountains, the base of the valley was flooded with gold, rescuing the frozen lake from the cold embrace of shadow.

Near the lake's edge, a Robin was perched on a low-hanging branch. He puffed out his fiery chest as he busied himself with his morning routine of scavenging, pecking with relish at some frozen berries. After gathering a satisfactory amount of fruit, he hopped onto a higher branch to admire his efforts, snow tumbling in his wake. He had been lucky; the valley was calm and the skies were clear for the first time in at least a week. Shuddering slightly at the thought of last week's weather, he made his way back to his nest, taking care not to let fall any of his hard-earned bounty. As he arrived, he realised that his nest was perhaps a little too full. Determined not to waste any food, he fussed over his new supplies, stuffing them as best as he could amongst the twigs. In his haste, his wing clipped a particularly large berry he had put aside, knocking it over the edge onto the cushiony floor. With a chirp of exasperation (he had been looking forward to this one the most), he descended in search of it, scratting the ground impatiently.

Suddenly, there was a loud _crack_. Startled, the Robin took flight and made for the refuge of the upper canopy. Sheltered within the branches, he peered curiously down into the clearing below.

A tall creature had just appeared, wrapped in a long, thick coat. It was panting heavily and clutching a thin stick in its hand. The Robin, who was a self-proclaimed expert in twig collecting, wondered why it would have exhausted itself for only one – and not a particularly nice one at that. It stumbled forward, sinking in the deep snow, coming to a halt in the centre of the clearing. Raising the stick in the air, it scanned its surroundings erratically. 'Maybe it's looking for another twig, or just a better one', thought the Robin smugly.

Still gazing down, the Robin tweeted with excitement as he saw his berry gleaming red against the snow. He flitted from branch to branch, observing the creature, which was still gazing wide-eyed around itself. It looked injured; its fur was matted with blood and it was avoiding putting too much weight on its left foot. He wished it would leave: he was yearning to tuck into the berry, yet he daren't fly down, not with the creature still there. He waited, glaring down at the intruder, willing it to move on so he could enjoy his breakfast in peace.

The creature had regained its breath. It slowly struggled to the edge of the clearing, hissing in pain each time it stepped on its injured foot. 'About time, too.' thought the Robin. He unfolded his wings, but just as he was about to retrieve his meal, there was another loud _crack_. Another creature, even bigger than the first, had appeared on the far side of the clearing. This one was also holding a stick in its hand, but had a much cleaner coat. The smaller creature whirled around, pointing his stick at the new arrival, which, in turn, preceded to point its own stick back.

The Robin wondered if this was part of a courting display, but then the smaller creature let out a roar and a bright blue bolt burst from the end of its twig with a bang and shot at the bigger creature. The latter determinedly met the attack, quickly swatting at the bolt and shattering it, but was forced backwards. With a snarl, it slashed its stick and a cluster of fiery red orbs rocketed back through the air, exploding in a high-pitched whistle as the injured one desperately protected itself. The creatures continued slashing and bellowing and the clearing was lit up as the snow reflected bright flashes of light, basking the Robin in a multicoloured glow. Their fight was ferocious; both creatures hacking and thrusting as the clearing resonated with loud bangs, the snow cascading from the surrounding branches with large crashes.

The larger creature advanced across the clearing, the smaller hunched against its onslaught. It drew ever closer to its opponent, stabbing and spitting, bathing the clearing in an almost blinding light. The smaller creature, now on its knees, feebly raised its stick and a spear of purple light zipped at the larger creature's breast. Wrenching itself aside, it whipped its stick, fury in its eyes. A jet of light plunged into the exposed flank of the small creature, which screamed in pain and was thrown to the floor, its stick spiralling out of its hand and plunging into the soft ground.

The smaller creature writhed in the snow, gouging deep trenches with its flailing limbs as it drew short, laboured breaths. The large creature staggered on. When it reached its victim, it pointed its twig at it. There was pulse of light, a sigh, and then silence. The victor briefly contemplated its adversary and then, with a final _crack_ , disappeared where it stood.

The Robin fluttered down into the clearing, looking for his berry. He searched very thoroughly through the cracked and partly melted surface of last night's snowfall, but saw no sign of it. Disappointed, he returned to his nest and started to peck open a smaller, much less satisfying berry, as the small creature lay very still at the foot of his tree.

'Maybe I'll find a bigger berry tomorrow', he thought moodily, slurping at the bloody interior of his breakfast.


End file.
